


A Revolutionary Dead Man’s Party

by valantha



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Revolution (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Episode: s02e05 One Riot One Ranger, Episode: s03e02 Dead Man's Party, Family, Gen, Halloween Bingo-A-Thon, Homecoming, Masks, Pre-Het, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-11-08
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie returns home to Sunnydale from a summer fleeing her Slayer responsibilities and grief over killing Jason. As she is trying to reconnect with her mother - Rachel - Watcher - Miles - and friends - Aaron and Nora - a Nigerian mask reanimates the dead, forcing the Scoobies to work together to save Sunnydale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the nbc_revolution LJ community [Halloween Bingo-A-Thon](http://nbc-revolution.livejournal.com/127377.html)  
> Prompts: Masks, Autumn leaves of red and gold, and Zombie
> 
> Some dialogue taken from 3.2 – written by Marti Noxon
> 
> I don't own the characters, Revolution, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer; I'm just playing with them for a bit for fun, not profit.

Miles rapped on the Porters’ door, and noticed the bedraggled shrubbery around the porch – subtle, yet obvious, signs that not all was right with the occupants – as he waited. The door opened.

Ms. Porter’s face fell slightly, yet detectibly, as she saw it was him. She was clearly hoping he was Charlie finally returning, but she mustered her good breeding and said, “Uh, hello.”

Miles pulled his hands out of trouser pockets and gestured aimlessly, “Hello. Um, may I…”

The afternoon sun glistened off of Ms. Porter’s exquisite blonde hair as she replied, “Oh, Uh, of course. Come on in.”

As Miles entered the Porters’ house, the awkwardness was astounding, and Miles forced his mind to the information he came here to convey, “I’ve just come back from a trip. A friend of mine called with a lead. Stories about someone fighting vampires. It didn’t pan out, I’m afraid.” Miles took off his glasses and began polishing them – he didn’t want to have to see the disappointment in Ms. Porter’s stunningly blue eyes. This had been his tenth lead on Charlie's whereabouts, but none of them had been her. He was starting to fear that he’d never see his missing Slayer again.

“No Charlie,” Ms. Porter said despondently, yet also resolved. It was fascinating how complex of a woman was – complexities that Miles hadn’t begun to notice until after his Slayer fled. Then he began to get to know Ms. Porter, and learn that Charlie’s stubbornness and idealism weren’t Slayer traits, but Porter traits.

“No vampires,” Miles resisted quirking his lip, and instead continued polishing his glasses, “Bunch of school kids in heavy mascara listening to extremely silly music.”

Ms. Porter resolutely replied, “Well, thank you for going. I can hardly… I can hardly leave the house. I’m just afraid she’ll call and she’ll need my help.”

Miles’ heart tore a bit at this painful admission and, as he slid his glasses on, he said earnestly, “Charlie is the most _capable_ child I’ve ever known. I mean, she may be confused, unhappy, but I honestly believe she’s in no danger.”

“I just wish I could talk to her. The last thing we did was fight.” Rachel confessed, fiddling with her wedding ring restlessly.

Miles locked eyes with her, “Rachel, you mustn’t blame yourself for her leaving.”

Rachel nodded slightly, “I don’t,” Rachel’s voice turned scathing, honest, “I blame you.”

Miles was taken aback by this unexpected attack. These past few months had been hard on all of them, but he hadn’t thought Rachel blamed _him_. She was the one to throw down that reckless ultimatum. _She_ was the one who refused to accept who her daughter was.

Rachel continued, “You’ve been this huge influence on her, guiding her, training her. You had this whole relationship with her behind my back. I feel like you’ve taken her away from me.”

Miles was at a loss of what to say, and after a few false starts said, “I didn’t make Charlie who she is.”

“And who _exactly_ is she?” asked Rachel.

Miles tried to understand all of the layers to Rachel’s question. He paused and gathered a perfectly rational argument, “She’s your daughter, head-strong and fierce, but she is also The Chosen One. The one who protects humanity against vampires, demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.”

Rachel’s jaw tightened, as it did every time Mile brought up her daughter’s sacred duty. He was just beginning to understand Rachel’s complexities, but there was nothing complex about her desire to keep her daughter safe. Including from The Watchers Council or ‘group of sick, patriarchal, old men’ as Rachel once – perhaps rightly – called them.

Rachel interrupted his introspection with a firm, if still polite, “Was that all?”

Miles nodded and said, “Um, yes, well. Thank you for your time.”

Ms. Porter held open the door and Miles retreated, sneaking one last peek at the intriguing woman who was his Slayer’s mother.

* * *

Rachel was tapping her pen, starring at her notebook, her mind as vacant as the page in front of her when she heard a rap at the door. It was probably Mr. Matheson attempting to salve his conscience once more. She capped her pen and closed the book. Halfway to the door she started hoping it was Charlie, her daughter, home at last. She took a deep breath to steel herself and threw open the door.

Her baby was staring up at her, blue eyes somber yet hopeful, uncertain of her reception. Rachel opened her arms and stepped forward a half-step. It was all the invitation her daughter needed. Charlie threw herself into her arms and Rachel carefully and joyously enfolded her daughter in her arms. She smelled different, grown-up, cheap shampoo and the remnants of greasy food.

After several minutes Charlie mumbled something into her shoulder.

“What dear?”

“You’re squashing me,” Charlie joked as if she hadn’t been gone for the whole summer finding herself. As if nothing had changed!

Rachel knew that holding too tight would only drive her away again, so she released her baby girl, looked down onto her familiar face and asked, “Are you hungry?”

* * *

Charlie sat down, her pack in her lap, on her bed. _Her_ bed. She looked around her room. It had only been her room for two years, since the divorce, but it still felt like home – her photos on the wall, Mr. Gordo on her chair. She had missed it. She had missed her friends and her family too, but after being a wanted criminal, being kicked out of her house, _and_ after killing Jason to save the world, she needed out. She needed to stop being Charlie, the Slayer, and take a break from the responsibilities that entailed. Like ending up a wanted criminal and killing a newly re-ensouled Jason to stop Acathla from destroying the world.

She had suppressed her Slayer-skills and lay low, just wandering through life for awhile, but life couldn’t let her remain that way and tossed her a couple of annoying roadblocks. Just enough to wake her up. Now her Grandfather’s house and Sunnydale seemed small, but in a good way, like a perfectly fitting sweater.

Charlie rooted through her bag, tossing clothes back into their drawers and palming Mr. Pointy. She should try and find Aaron and Nora. Maybe they were at the Bronze. It would be great to see them again.

Charlie grabbed her favorite jacket – one she hadn’t seen in months, but not Jason’s – and went to go find her mom. It wouldn’t do to slip out of the house on her first night back.

Pausing for a second, her spidy-sense directed her to Mom’s room where she found her hanging a butt-ugly and grimacing mask.

As Mom explained how she had gotten the mask at work and how she had thought it would brighten up the room, Charlie just stared at the grimacing wooden mask with its long pointy teeth and red polished eyes. There was something down right unsettling about that mask.

Charlie couldn’t stop herself, when her mom said the mask cheered up the room she piped in and said, “It’s angry at the room, Mom. It wants the room to suffer.”

Mom laughed it off as Charlie’s lack of culture, and then they dove into the uncomfortable part of the evening.

Mom asked if she was going out, and Charlie tried to whiffle-waffle about seeing Aaron and Nora. Mom asked if she was gonna be slaying, and Charlie joked that she wasn’t planning on killing her friends. Which was probably the wrong move after Kelly. Oh well, hindsight. Mom asked if she was hungry, or if she wanted a ride. Charlie cut to the chase and asked if she wanted her to stay home.

After Mom gave Charlie her reluctant blessing, she set off on a Nora-Aaron hunt, eventually finding them – with Priscilla and Frank tagging along – playing at being Slayers in an alleyway behind the Bronze.


	2. Act 1: Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie tries to fit the pieces of her life in Sunnydale back together, but they don't fit anymore.

Miles heard a rap at the door. He lay down his guitar and scooped his glasses off of the coffee table. He opened the door without checking the peephole, not the wisest thing to do in Sunnydale after dark, but frankly, he felt more than a little at-loose-ends without his Slayer. His Slayer who had wormed her way so deep into his heart he felt empty without her.

And there she was. Miles blinked several times to allow his mind to process. There, in his doorway, stood the most insufferable yet lovable girl he had ever known. She looked up at him, unsure of her reception. She was surrounded by her friends, Nora chattered inanely, about Watchers versus Seers, easily ignored as per usual.

Miles put on his glasses and shut up Nora. He wanted to hug Charlie tight or shout at her, but that just wasn’t done. He knew she had a reason for fleeing for three months, beyond being wanted for Kelly’s death, and he would have to be patient in drawing that information out of her.

His prim “Welcome home, Charlie,” was sufficient. Charlie’s shatteringly beautiful smile graced her face, and Miles opened up his home for her and her friends.

Miles put the kettle on, and stashed his Scotch. When he returned, Charlie began filling them in on the most basic information about her absence, “I got in a few hours ago, but I wanted to go see my mom first.”

Miles simply could not help himself at the mention of Rachel and asked, “Yes. Yes, of course. How did you find her?”

Charlie, being her usual pippy self, misconstrued the question and said, “Well, I pretty much remembered the address.”

Miles suppressed a smile, Charlie certainly kept things interesting, “Well, um, yes. I mean, how are things between you?”

As inappropriate his feelings for his Slayer’s mother were they would be all that much worse if she still harbored a genuine dislike for him. And it would make his job as Charlie’s Watcher difficult too.

Charlie was rescued from this probing question by the kettle whistling.

Miles could hear the gang catching Charlie up on the Sunnydale happenings, and ‘masterfully’ questioning her about her absence while he left to fetch the kettle and tea things.

Nora and Charlie giggled about Belgium and Miles felt the stinging relief of knowing his slayer was home. Charlie was home. Safe. The pain he had carried around inside for the past three months lifted. A few tears of relief trickled from his ducts unbidden. Miles knuckled them away and returned his glasses to their rightful place. He smiled tightly; Charlie was home. And he was going to make sure she stayed that way.

Frank asked a frank and tactless question about Charlie’s living situation whilst away, and Charlie tried to deflect it. Nora pushed for more.

Miles, hands full of tea things, had to step in and play ref, saying, “Perhaps Charlie could use a little time to adjust before we grill her about her summer activities.” Pressing too hard now might reopen whatever wound had caused her to flee in the first place. And that was the last thing that Miles wanted.

Conversation turned, Nora pridefully exclaiming about their newly won skills with the slayage, Charlie seemed concerned, and maybe a little miffed about the replacement, which boded well for that aspect of the Slayer-Charlie dichotomy.

Miles smiled at Charlie’s stated desire to get back to normal, but knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She _was_ still suspended. Miles watched Nora and Aaron try to talk their way out of a night of “brainless fun” with Charlie. That was interesting. Their friendships would need time to mend.

However, Miles felt it was a moral imperative to remind Charlie, “As for school, Charlie, uh, you know you’ll have to talk to Principal Flynn before…”

Charlie responded, “On it. Mom is making an appointment with His Ugliness. I know she can break him.” Miles smiled, of course Rachel would have already thought of that. She was particularly prudent. And yes, her powerful personality should sway Principal Flynn.

* * *

Rachel and Charlie waited outside Principal Flynn’s office. Why did principal office chairs have to be so damn uncomfortable?

Fifteen minutes after the scheduled start of their appointment, Principal Flynn opened his office door and curtly gestured at another set of torture-chairs.

Rachel girded herself and politely said, “We’d like to see about getting Charlie re-enrolled at Sunnydale High.”

“Absolutely not. Under no circumstances,” Principal Flynn pronounced.

Rachel tightened her jaw at his close-mindedness, “But you can’t keep her out of school. You don’t have the right.”

“I have not only the right, but also a nearly physical sensation of pleasure at the thought of keeping her out of school. I’d describe myself as tingly,” the thickheaded – and bald – bureaucrat said.

Rachel wanted nothing more than to rip Principal Flynn’s pen off of his desk and embed it firmly in his spleen, but settled for attempting to explain, “Charlie was cleared of _all_ of those charges.” Miles and his mysterious Council had seen to that months ago.

The ratty pen pusher smirked and replied, “Yes, and while she may live up to the not-a-murderer requirement for enrollment, she is a troublemaker, destructive to school property and the occasional student. And her grade point average is enough to… I’m sorry. Another tingle moment.”

Rachel’s desire for physical retribution increased, this time she wanted to rip out his horrible, gnashing, rodent teeth with pliers, but she restrained herself. She also wanted to explain to this man that her daughter was only doing her job – a mystical and odd job or calling – but her job as a ‘Slayer.’ Rachel pushed those thoughts to the back of her head. “I don’t see how you can be so cavalier about a young girl’s entire future!”

“I’m quite sure that a girl with the talents and abilities of Charlie will land on her feet. In fact, I noticed as I came in this morning that Hot Dog On A Stick is hiring. You will look so cute in that hat,” this last condescending remark was leveled directly at Charlie, and Rachel stood up ready to punish this man for the way he spoke to _her_ daughter.

Charlie grabbed her wrist and said, “Let’s go, Mom.”

Rachel turned around at the door – far enough from the slimy little rat to not risk flying off the handle at him and damaging her daughter’s future at the school any more – and clipped out, “This isn’t over. If I have to, I’ll go all the way to the Mayor.”

* * *

Charlie checked her watch again. Aaron was an hour late. Aaron was never late. He didn’t have a late bone in his body. Charlie kicked at the curb. Maybe she remembered wrong. Maybe Aaron didn’t say to meet outside the Espresso Pump, maybe he said meet outside … there really wasn’t anyplace else for a post-school day rendezvous. Aaron was her best friend; he wouldn’t just ditch her like this. One of them got the time wrong. That’s what happened. She’d just wait here a while longer, and Aaron would show, thinking they said 4:30 not 3…

At five, Charlie gave up. She walked home her cute lilac pumps crunching the leaves beneath her feet. Their responsive crunching felt nice. Not as nice as dusting a vamp, but it was still fun. She made small detours in her walk to step on particularly crunchy looking leaves, letting the minuscule wave of destruction in her wake soothe her.

Charlie walked back to the kitchen, finding her mom writing in her journal, and poured herself a glass of juice. It may be fall, but it was still warm and the walk dried her out.

Mom looked up and said, “Oh, uh, before I forget, uh, Aaron just called.”

Charlie felt a frisson of something surge through her, Aaron didn’t forget about her, “Where was he?”

Mom off-handedly said, “Uh, he, he got held up, but he said he tried to call.”

Charlie hurt, a little, inside, “Was there a message?”

Mom turned back to her journal, replying simply, “No.” She looked up again, “But I had a thought. What if I invited Aaron and Miles and everybody over for dinner tomorrow night? Don't you think that would be nice?"

Charlie didn't know  _what_ to feel.

After a pause Mom continued, "Since I sort of already did, I was hoping for a yes.”

Charlie was full of conflicting emotions, but since her mother was trying so hard, she smiled bravely and said, “It’ll be fun.” Hella awkward, but maybe fun.

Mom said, “Great.  Uh, do me a favor?  Run down and get the company plates.”

Charlie suppressed a grimace, “Mom, Aaron and everybody aren't company-plate people.  They're normal-plate people.”

Mom explained, “We never have guests for dinner.  Indulge your mother?”

Charlie just sighed, recognizing her mom’s resolve-face, and heads for the basement. While rooting through the big bookcase o’ stuff Charlie found an old picture of her, Aaron, and Nora. They were all so happy then. Would their friendship heal? Would she ever be that happy again?

Charlie put the picture down and grabbed the box of china. An old, rotting cat tumbled down from the box. Gross. It smelled worse than the hell dimension she’d just left.

She and Mom buried the dead cat, and Mom said some last words about hoping the lost cat would find its way. Charlie wondered how a dead cat would be able to manage something a Slayer couldn’t. Everything was so awkward, and everyone was acting so weird. Maybe it would have been better to have never come back.


	3. Act 2: Rising Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction of zombie!cat, Charlie's welcome home hootenanny makes her feel like an unwanted stranger.

Rachel sipped her coffee and watched her daughter stare at the fridge looking for something to eat for breakfast like the normal teenager she really ought to have been. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Some people were just born differently. Or that’s what Rachel tried to tell herself.

She focused on her story, “I've been on the phone with the, uh, Superintendent of Schools. At least he seems more reasonable than that nasty little horrid, bigoted, rodent-man.”

Charlie said chidingly, “Mom…”

Rachel continued unaffected, “Anyway, um, I'm going in to speak with him this afternoon.  Uh, as for private schools, uh, Miss Summers' accepts late admissions. I, uh, I wrote the information down for you.”

Charlie protested fiercely as she knew she would, “A girls' school? So now it's jackets, kilts, and no boys? Care to throw in a little foot-binding?”

Rachel sighed, “Charlie, you made some bad choices.  You just might have to live with some consequences.”

As Rachel explained, Charlie had the common decency to look ashamed and Rachel backed off a bit, “Nothing's settled yet. I just wish you didn't have to be so secretive about things. I mean; it's not your fault you have a special circumstances.  They should make allowances for you.”

She knew Miles was all for secrecy, but it might make her daughter’s life easier if others knew. She grabbed the trash and tied it off. It was trash day.

Charlie tried to explain, “Mom, I'm a Slayer.  It's not like I need to ride a little bus to school.”

Rachel continued, “Couldn't you just tell a few people, like Principal Flynn…” Rachel fought off Charlie’s disbelieving glare, “And maybe the police? I mean, I would think they would be happy to have a… a superhero. Is that the right term?  I mean, it's not offensive, is it?”

In the middle of fending off another round of huffy teenaged eyes, Rachel opened the kitchen door to take out the trash, only to let in the dead cat they had buried yesterday – stinking even worse than it had the day before, if that was even possible - it hissed and ran upstairs. She gasped. Was this what it was like to be in the Slayer’s inner circle?

Charlie calmly eyed the zombie cat and grabbed the phone; she dialed Miles, and evenly informed him of the appearance of a zombie cat in their house – like it was normal.

Rachel desperately tried not to hyperventilate, and swapped her coffee for tea in an attempt to reduce her adrenaline levels.

A short time later, Miles arrived at the house with a cage. Charlie and Miles swapped quips like a re-animated dead cat was a daily occurrence. Maybe she wasn’t cut out to be a Slayer’s mother. She shook herself. She was Rachel Porter, and yes, she _could_ handle her daughter’s ‘calling’ with class and composure.

Miles caught the hissing dead cat and placed it in the cage. Charlie continued with the jokes.

Miles grabbed the reeking cage and said, “I'll get it back to the library, see if we can determine its exact origins.”

Then Miles noticed her new mask, and surprisingly, correctly identified its origins. Rachel was about to launch into the anthropological meaning and provenance of this Nigerian mask when Charlie interrupted her and tried to steer the conversation back to researching the cause of the zombie cat.

Miles awkwardly tried to convince Charlie to stay with her instead of coming with him to do research. Rachel said it was fine. She really needed to air out the whole house, and they had had plenty of mother-daughter bonding time while trying to catch a zombie-cat. She kind of needed time to process.

Miles uneasily informed them that Charlie wasn’t allowed on school property and thus couldn’t help with the research. As he left, Rachel remembered the dinner party she had planned, and reminded Miles. He distractedly agreed.

Rachel instantly set about airing out the house. As the crisp clean fall air diluted the fetid dead-cat stench, she tried to wrap her head around Charlie’s slayer-dom. It was one thing hearing Miles talk about what Charlie had done, it was another to actually be in the middle of the hijinks.

* * *

Miles went through the library, gathering all the books pertaining to the re-animation of corpses he could recall, while Charlie’s friends hung about. On occasion they were quite useful – Aaron especially – but sometimes they were a bit on the annoying side.

Priscilla – who happened to also be a werewolf – was entranced by the dead cat. Frank was his typical – and frankly annoying – self and critiqued Miles’ choice in pets.

Exasperated, Miles said, “I'm trying to find out how and why it rose from the grave.  It's not as if I'm going to take it home and offer it a saucer of warm milk.”

Miles handed out the research tomes, and just as everyone settled in to be helpful Aaron brought up Charlie’s welcome home dinner. Frank and Priscilla quickly wrested the conversation from Aaron, Nora brought up the very disturbing possibility that Charlie might have be involved in illicit sex trafficking, and before Miles knew it, they were planning a big blowout bash – no, a _hootenanny_ – to welcome Charlie home.

He spoke up, trying to indicate that a hootenanny was not likely to be the best choice, but he was promptly overruled by a gaggle of teens. Perhaps they did know what Charlie needed best. But he doubted it. Whatever kind of party they were having, he was just glad she was home.

* * *

Charlie laid out the good china, and neatened the place settings. She had been reluctant at first, but now she was quite looking forward to this grownup dinner party. Maybe things would start to get back to normal if everyone could talk and see each other in a grownup light. She didn’t know how much of her summer she was willing to share with the others, but maybe she could alleviate some of their fears.  She had put on a grownup dress, and put her hair up in a nice up-do. They were all gonna talk like grownups and Miles and Mom were going to see her as a grownup and everything was going to get better.

The doorbell rang, and Charlie hurried over, tiding herself up for her guest. She opened up the door for Ken, her Mom’s ‘good’ friend – whom she had just met. Moms weren’t supposed to have friends; they were moms! Ken welcomed her again and asked if she was thinking of running off again and handed her a wrapped package of some sort of meat.

Charlie didn’t know how to respond to this busybody, and asked him if he wanted to see Mom, and promptly shouted upstairs for Rachel. As soon as Mom had welcomed Ken and took him back to the kitchen, the doorbell rang again. Charlie opened the door to a guy she hardly recognized – Merv, Marv, something like that – a guy in Priscilla’s band.

Charlie was shocked and muttered, “Wh… the band?” That wasn’t on the agenda for the night. Marv, and his groupies walked right in and began setting up. Charlie sat down on the stairs by the front doorway and watched as her plans for a nice grownup dinner party vanished.

* * *

Charlie walked through what was, obstensibly, _her_ party, recognizing maybe half of the kids as being from Sunnydale High. Priscilla’s band  Fireflies Scorched My Baby _were_ playing one of her favorite songs “Never Mind”, and Aaron should be around here somewhere.

Charlie found him, and tried to start up a conversation. Aaron was really grooving to the music, and couldn’t hear her over the band. Charlie tried to tell him that she had been hoping to just hang out with the gang again, but gave up when it became clear Aaron was really just into watching Priscilla jam.

Charlie walked through the crowd of strangers, and turned around deciding if this was her party, then Aaron could spare a few minutes to talk to her.

Charlie dragged Aaron to the quieter dining room, still done up for a formal, grownup dinner party. Charlie tried to call Aaron on his avoidyness, but he waved it off. She was pretty unconvinced, but eventually let him go back to ogling his girl.

Charlie wandered around her party some more, and ran into Nora and Frank. They were in the middle of some serious make-out action, so she tried to walk around them. Nora noticed her, and tried to make some Nora-wacky conversation.

When she brought up that a lot of people missed her Charlie earnestly said, “It seems like people I didn't even know missed me.”

Nora went back to making out with Frank – who hadn’t even really stopped kissing her.

Charlie interrupted them once more to ask about where Miles was.

Nora replied, “Uh, he was Library Man last time I saw him.  But he'll be here. He wants to celebrate your homecoming.  We all do.  I mean; it's great to have the Char-char back.”

Frank agreed, and they went back to sucking some serious face.

Charlie tried to clean up some of the mess the crowd of strangers made, and as she left for the kitchen, hands full of trash, she overheard two seniors talking about how the party was for some chick who had just gotten out of rehab. Great. Now she had a drug problem she didn’t even know about.

She stopped right outside the kitchen door, hearing her mother and Ken talking inside.

“…having Charlie home, I-I thought it was gonna make everything all better, but in some ways, it's almost worse…”

Her friends didn’t want her here, her mom didn’t want her here, why was she even here?

Charlie walked through the party, the once too loud sounds of revelry faded. If only Jason was still alive.

Charlie sniffled and pulled her bag out. If her friends didn’t wait her around, if they didn’t want to make time for her, she would just make it easier on them and leave. She threw some freshly laundered clothes back in to bag, and tossed some holy water and stakes on top. She might be leaving again, but this time she’d leave as a Slayer.


	4. Act 3: Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head - both with respect to Charlie's issues with her friends and mother, and with the impending zombie horde.

Miles paced around the library. There just _had_ to be an explanation for the reanimated cat in one of these manuscripts. None of the explanations he had found fit the evidence. The moon wasn’t in the second quarter of Cassiopeia, and why would anyone waste a Ghora demon’s egg on a stray cat? Whatever the malevolent influence, it was growing stronger, the stray cat Priscilla had named Patches was more active in its cage and hissed with increasing frequency.

Miles flipped the page in the tome he was re-reading, the next section began recounting the exploits of a 18th century Watcher in Louisiana and a spate of indiscriminate corpse re-animations.

An uncontrollable “Oh, lord!” burst from his lips as he read how the watcher connected the zombies to a mask of Nigerian origins – a mask which held the power of a zombie demon Ovu Mobani. Miles continued to read about the demon and its mask and its weaknesses as he made his way to his phone. He had to inform Charlie immediately that her mother’s mask was the source of the issue before it was exacerbated.

Charlie’s phone rang numerous times, Miles’ heart rate ever accelerating, eventually _someone_ picked up the phone.

Miles was treated to the clear sounds of a raging ‘hootenanny’ and a stranger – a partygoer – saying ‘Party Villa, can I rock you?’

Miles mentally sighed and said clearly, “I need to speak with Charlie.  Immediately! I have some information that is extremely important.”

The partyer’s few remaining neurons were clearly not in the conversation, and after several frustration exchanges the stoner hung up on Miles. That just would not do, Miles would have to go and communicate this vital information in person. Miles grabbed his keys, jacket, and the book, and headed for the Porters' house posthaste.

* * *

Miles sped through Sunnydale in his grey 1963 Citroën, talking to himself, “Unbelievable. ‘Do you like my mask?  Isn't it pretty?  It raises the **dead**!' _Americans._ ”

Whilst distracted, he didn’t notice a man shambling into the road until it was far too late. He slammed on the breaks, exclaiming, “Jeez!”

The man hit his windshield, rolled across the car, and collapsed on the street. _Bloody hell._

“My God!” exclaimed Miles as he raced out of the car to check on the injured man.

“Are you all right?” he asked, “Are you hurt?”

Miles rolled over the man, only to notice his state of semi-decay and hear his groaning.

_Oh bugger, the mask had started to expand its area of influence!_ The zombie grabbed Miles by his lapels and wrecked him upwards. Miles noticed three more zombies shambling towards him. _Well bugger all._

The zombie threw Miles against his car and he used his momentum to kick the zombie off of himself. Miles rolled over the hood and scrambled to his door, locking himself in and the four zombies out. Miles grabbed the wheel and reached to start the car, only to realize the keys weren’t there. He frantically checked his pockets. All of his pockets. They weren’t there either.

There. His keys were lying on the street. Past the zombies.

“Good show, Miles,” he muttered to himself. There was no way he could get to his keys there.

After a moment of kicking himself, he got an excellent idea. He leaned down and ripped off the dash. He pulled out some wires, and channeling his younger self, Ripper, he quickly unraveled and striped the appropriate wires. Just as a zombie punched through the window and reached in for him, Miles touched the wires together. They sparked, and the engine started up.

“Like riding a bloody bicycle!” Miles exclaimed.

Dodging zombie arms, he started the car and drove off. The zombies attempted to keep up, but luckily, they couldn’t. _Hopefully I’ll get to Charlie’s house before it’s too late_ , Miles thought.

* * *

Charlie was rooting through her closet, throwing some fall and winter clothes on top of her bag when her bedroom door creaked open. She turned around to see Aaron looking all mopey.

“You're leaving again?” He inquired disbelievingly.

Charlie turned around and gave him a quick glance before going back to packing.

Aaron continued, “What, you just stopped by for your lint brush and now you're ready to go?”

Charlie muttered, mostly for herself, “It's not like anyone will mind.”

Aaron sarcastically replied, “Oh, no.  Have a great time.  Oh, oh, and don't forget to **not** write.”

Charlie tossed down the jacket she was trying to fold and turned to face her friend, “Why are you attacking me?  I'm _trying_.”

Aaron pressed his advantage, “ _Wow_ , and it looks _so_ much like giving up!”

_Charlie just didn’t understand. Why was everyone harping on her?_ She said “I'm just trying to make things easier.” No one wanted her around anyways.

Aaron retorted, “For who?”

Charlie was hurt and pointed out, “You guys were doing just fine without me.”

“We were doing the best we could!” Aaron exclaimed, tears in his eyes, adding, “It's not like we had a lot of choice in the matter.”

Charlie felt remorse. She hadn’t stopped by the hospital on her way out of town to talk to her friends, or even let them know she was okay. She went directly home after killing re-ensouled Jason to pack a bag and leave her mom a note. She tried to explain, “Sorry that I had to leave, but you don't know what I was going through.”

Aaron earnestly said, “Well, I'd like to.”

Charlie haltingly said, “You wouldn't understand.”

“Well, maybe I don't need to understand.  Maybe I . . . I just need you to talk to me.” Aaron said.

Charlie got miffed. That’s what she was _trying_ to do earlier, “How could I talk to you when you were _avoiding_ me?”

“This isn't easy, Charlie!” Aaron tried to elaborate, “I know you're going through stuff, but . . . so am I.”

Charlie explained, “I know that you were worried about me, but—“

Aaron interrupted, “No!  I don't just mean that. I mean, my life!  You know?  I, um . . . I'm having all sorts of … I'm dating, I'm having _serious_ dating with a **werewolf,** a-and I'm studying magic and and and killing vampires, and I didn't have anyone to talk to about all this scary life stuff.  And you were my _best friend_.”

“You have no idea how much I missed you,” it hurt how much she had missed them, “Everyone.  I wanted to call every day.”

“That doesn't matter, Charlie,” Aaron said, “It doesn't make it okay that you didn't.”

* * *

Rachel followed the sounds of fighting teenagers to her daughter’s room.

Aaron said, “It doesn't make it okay that you didn't.”

Rachel took note of the open, half-full bag on Charlie’s bed. Her daughter was leaving her _again_.

“What is this?” Rachel exclaimed, pointing at the bag, “Is this some sort of a joke?”

“Mom, please, could you, could you just—“ Charlie started to explain.

Rachel interrupted, her stomach a mass of worry, anger, fear, “No, I can't just!  Charlie, what is this?”

Aaron explained, giving voice to her fears, “She was running away again.”

Charlie, teary-eyed said, “No, I wasn't… I'm not sure.”

“Well, you better **get** sure and explain yourself right away! If you think you can just - just take off any time you feel like it—“ Rachel declared.

“Stop it!  Please!  I don't know.  I don't know what I'm doing.” Charlie said as she ran from her room. _Running away wasn’t going to solve anything._ Rachel – followed by Aaron – chased after her. Charlie ran down the stairs, and her escape from the house was only hindered by Nora and Frank making out on the front door. Rachel was never so pleased to see Frank.

“Don't you leave this house, young lady!” Rachel couldn’t help herself as she uttered another reckless ultimatum, just like the one that caused this schism in the first place.

She still followed close behind Charlie’s determined stride, “You know what?  That's it.”

Rachel grabbed Charlie’s arm and turned her around, “You and I are going to have a talk.”

Charlie pleaded, taking note of the scene they were causing, “Mom, please--

Rachel was sick to death of all the secrecy and the lying and her daughter risking life and limb every night, “You know what?  I don't care.  I don't care what your friends think of me, or you for that matter, because you put me through the wringer, Charlie. I mean it. And I've had whiskey. Do you have **any** idea what it's been like?”

The partygoers were watching interestedly, and Charlie’s friends were inching closer.

Charlie said, “Mom, this isn't the time—“

Rachel interrupted again, “You can't imagine **months** of not knowing. Not knowing whether you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere or, I don't know, living it up—“

Charlie interrupted her, “But you told me!  You're the one who said I should go.  You said if I leave this house, don't come back.  You found out who I really was, and you couldn't deal.  Don't you remember?”

Each word was a knife through the heart. “Charlie, you didn't give me time.  You just dumped this thing on me and you expected me to get it.  Well, guess what?  Mom's not perfect, okay?  I handled it badly.  But that doesn't give you the right to punish me by running away.”

Charlie interrupted, “Punish you?  I didn't do this to punish you!”

Nora cut in, giving Rachel a bit of time to process everything, “Well, you did.  You should've seen what you put her through.”

Thankfully people were starting to leave, rightly figuring the party was over.

“Great.  Thanks.  Anybody else want to weigh in here?” Charlie exclaimed, and pointed at a teen eating a chip, “How about you by the dip?”

The teen froze mid-chip and looked around nervously, “No, thanks.  I'm good.”

Nora stepped up to the plate again, “You know, maybe you don't want to hear it, Charlie, but taking off like you did was incredibly selfish and stupid.”

Charlie returned fire, “Okay!  Okay.  I screwed up.  I know this.  But you have no idea! You have … you have no idea what happened to me or what I was feeling!”

Rachel was just standing shocked, while Nora continued, “Did you even try talking to _anybody_?”

Charlie replied, “There was nothing that anybody could do.  Okay?  I just had to deal with this on my own.”

Nora snarked, “Yeah, and you see how well **that** one worked out.  You can't just bury stuff, Charlie.  It'll come right back up to get you.”

Rachel stood there and just listened to Charlie’s friends attack her and her responses. She was learning more about her daughter’s life in this brief fight than she had gotten in the past year! And it was a lot to handle - a demon boyfriend - all of it.

Charlie was almost past the point of tears – which made Rachel want to intercede but she knew that problems must be aired for them to be resolved, so restrained herself. Things started to get more heated between Nora and Charlie and Priscilla tried to intercede, but was stopped by Aaron, “No, let them go, Priscilla. Talking about it isn't helping.  We might as well try some violence.”

Suddenly, a man crashed through the living room window. He was followed by several more in various stages of decomposition.

Aaron shouted to the ether, “I was being sarcastic!”

One undead man grabbed Nora, and another killed a bystander. Rachel ran to the wall watching the mayhem around her. Charlie and Nora communicated quickly – almost non-verbally – and Charlie tossed her a fire-poker and Nora and Frank ran out back.

Charlie began _boxing_ with one of the undead. _Was this what her daughter did every day?!_ Whilst Charlie was dodging the man, Rachel saw an opportunity and grabbed her vase off of the piano and smashed it over his head. _How dare he hurt her daughter!_ Charlie used her distraction to kick his legs out from underneath him.

“Are these vampires?” Rachel had to ask.

Charlie, breathless, responded, “Uh, I don't think so.”

Aaron tossed Charlie a piece of window frame, which she caught deftly and rammed it through the undead’s heart. Nothing happened.

Charlie, while brushing her hair out of her eyes, said with concern, “No, not vampires.”

The undead man rose back to his feet, and ripped the stake out of his heart, tossing it in Rachel’s general direction. Charlie looked a little at a loss of what to do, so Rachel grabbed the piece of wood and hit the _zombie_ over the head repeatedly – keeping him down. The chip boy stood behind her, armed with the band’s guitar.

Charlie shouted, “We got to get 'em back outside!”

Rachel instructed Priscilla and one of her bandmates, “On three! One . . . Two . . . Three!”

Together they grabbed the zombie and began dragging his dead, resisting, mass out of her living room to the front door. Charlie held the door open and slammed it shut behind him. Rachel threw herself against the door as the zombie slammed against it.

Charlie instructed, “Okay! We're gonna have to barricade this door! We need some help out here!”

Frank and Priscilla grabbed Rachel’s favorite coffee table and propped it up against the door. Suddenly, an arm punched through the solid oak door like it was thin fiberboard and grabbed Priscilla.

Priscilla let out a small screak and Charlie shouted, “Upstairs!”

Rachel followed Charlie and some of her friends up the stairs and into her room. At the door she noticed Ken lying unconscious on the hallway floor.

Rachel exclaimed, “Oh, Ken!” and ran over to him. Charlie and Aaron helped her wake up Ken and lead him into her bedroom.

Nora watched worriedly, muttering, “Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.”

Rachel murmured comfortingly to Ken, “I got you. Okay.”

Rachel and Aaron sat Ken down on her wicker chair while Charlie and Nora shut the door on another zombie.

Aaron checked Ken’s pulse, and Rachel was shocked to deduce Ken was dead. Rachel let herself grieve for all of 10 seconds before Charlie’s cries of distress forced her into action. Working with Charlie, Nora, and Aaron, they managed to close the door.  _This was what being a Slayer’s mother was all about._

“What do we do if they get in?” Rachel asked.

Nora’s oh so calming reply was “I kind of think we die.”


	5. Act 4: Denouement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie saves the day, relationships begin to mend.

Miles’ heart dropped down past his liver when he saw the broken living room window, shattered front door, and scattered red Solo cups. He was too late. He huried around back and through the kitchen door. The house was deathly silent; he needed to find Charlie – or Rachel. He was accosted in the kitchen by Frank, who held a ski pole like a spear to his neck.

Miles quietly said, “Frank, it's me! It's me!”

Frank – panicked – asked, “How do we know it's really you and not zombie Miles?”

Miles inwardly groaned, “Frank, do stop being tiresome.”

Frank turned to Priscilla and removed the ski pole, “It's him.”

Priscilla laconically said, “I think the Dead Man's Party's moved upstairs.”

Miles nodded, “That makes sense.  It's the mask in Rachel's bedroom they're after.”

Frank asked “Mask?”

Miles explained as the crept towards the stairs, “The mask holds the power of a . . . zombie demon, called Ovu Mobani – Evil Eye. I don't think we can get past them.”

“Well, what happens if they get the mask?” asked Priscilla.

Miles replied, “If one of them puts it on, they become the demon incarnate.”

Frank narrated, “Worse than a zombie.”

Miles held back a snort, “Yes, worse.”

* * *

Rachel along with Charlie, Nora, and Aaron, were barely managing to hold her bedroom door closed when a zombie burst _through_ it.

The force sent Rachel and Nora tumbling to the floor, and Rachel watched helplessly as the zombie backhanded her baby. Charlie crashed into the wall, and Rachel wanted to rush to her, but Nora beat her there, distracting the zombie briefly.

 _She wasn’t needed there._ Glancing around, Rachel saw Ken standing up in the middle of her room.

Amazed, Rachel ran to hug him, “Oh, God! We thought you were—“

Ken threw her against the wall – next to Nora. Ken bent down and picked up her new Nigerian mask – but the eyes were glowing red. Ken placed the mask on his face and the eyes shone purple as it reformed to fit his face. _What the hell was going on here?_

The zombie fighting Aaron groaned and cowered; Nora explained – needlessly – “Generally speaking, when scary things get scared: not good.”

Not-Ken said in an eerily echo-y voice, “I live, you die.”

Then he turned his attention to Aaron. Charlie stepped between them, only to have Not-Ken flash his eyes at her and backhand her into the closet door.

Rachel’s stomach lurched, but Charlie quickly brushed herself off. She shouted, “Aaron, don't look!”

Not-Ken’s eyes flashed once more at Aaron, who froze in the spot. Not-Ken grabbed Aaron’s neck and the back of his head; Rachel could hardly bear to look. Charlie dove between them, tumbling Not-Ken out Rachel’s bedroom window. Rachel rushed to the shattered window to see Charlie and Not-Ken scramble up in the backyard. _Charlie!_

Any other thoughts were ripped from her as the other zombie stopped cowering and started to attack. Rachel grabbed the baseball bat she kept by the bed and – with a touch of help from Nora and Aaron – pummeled the zombie back.

* * *

Miles had just rounded up Charlie’s friends to storm the stairs when they heard a loud crash upstairs and then in the backyard, he shouted “Out back!”

They rushed back down the stairs, Miles in the lead, only to be cut off by a zombie appearing from the dining room. The zombie grabbed him by the neck.

Priscilla tried to fight the zombie back with her ski pole, to little avail.

Miles managed to grunt out around zombie-hands, “Tell Charlie Mobani's power lies in his eyes!”

Priscilla kicked the zombie back, and using her werewolf agility, jumped over the railing and ran off to the back.

Miles shouted after her, “She has to go for the eyes to defeat him!”

Frank stepped up to help Miles with the zombie, and he hoped Priscilla would get there in time. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing Charlie so soon after her return.

* * *

Charlie scrabbled back from the zombie-mask-thing, shouting, “Not looking. Not looking!”

The zombie-mask-thing’s power was in its eyes; it froze you – even Slayers – if you looked into them. The zombie-mask-thingy tackled her to the ground, and Charlie buried her eyes in the crick of her elbow. She could tell it tried the flashy-thingy again, but she kicked it back – across the yard - and it landed on its back. She scrambled to her feet and spotted the shovel they had used to bury the dead cat yesterday. _Perfect_. Charlie grabbed it, and turned around, just in time to be flashed… time slowed down.

Who knows how much later, Priscilla shouted, “Charlie!”

Charlie shook herself, and stood, reenergized, “Hey Ken.”

The zombie-mask-thing turned away from Priscilla just as Charlie rammed the shovel into its eyes.

The zombie-mask-thing struggled with the shovel. “Made you look,” Charlie quipped.

The eyes flashed around the shovel, and the zombie-mask-thing disappeared in a huge flash of light. _All in a day’s work._

* * *

Rachel’s zombie disappeared mid-bat strike, and she turned and looked at Nora and Aaron cowering behind her bed. _What just happened?_

* * *

Miles and Frank were fending off the zombie with their ski poles, only to have him disappear. _Charlie has succeeded!_

* * *

Charlie stood proud and turned to Priscilla. Priscilla shrugged, “Never mind.”

* * *

Rachel ran downstairs; bat in hand – briefly noting Miles and Frank at the base of the stairs. She had to know Charlie was okay.

She sighed a huge breath of relief at seeing her enter from the kitchen, “Honey! Oh! Are you all right?”

She embraced her daughter tightly. Charlie hugged her back. _All was right in the world._

Charlie calmly replied, “Yeah.”

Rachel took a small step back, asking “So, is this a typical day at the office?”

Charlie replied, “No.  This was nothing.” _Oh._

Rachel stepped back dazed as Charlie’s friends gathered around her.

Nora told Charlie, “Nice moves.”

Charlie replied, “You, too.”

Aaron ran up and gave Charlie a big hug. Rachel enjoyed the scene of friendships mending, and glanced over to notice Miles watching from the other side of the room with a similar expression on his face. He really did care about her daughter as a person, not just as the Slayer.

* * *

Miles knocked on Principal Flynn’s door, but didn’t bother waiting for a response.

Principal Flynn was at his filing cabinet and walked over to desk, saying, “ Do we have an appointment?”

Miles calmly said, “I'd like to have a word with you.”

Principal Flynn dropped the files and turned around, “If that word is Charlie, then I have two words for you: 'good' and 'riddance'.  Now, if you don't mind, I have an appointment with the Mayor.”

Slowly, rationally, Miles explained, “You can't keep her out of this school.”

Principal Flynn pulled on his jacket and said, “I think you'll find I can.”

Miles continued, “You had no grounds for expelling her.”

Principal Flynn continued in his close-minded and repulsive behavior, “ I have grounds, I have precedent, and a tingly kind of feeling.”

Miles glanced down to collect himself, “Charlie Porter is a minor, and is entitled to a public education. Your personal dislike of the girl does not legally entitle you to—“

Principal Flynn interrupted, “Why don't you take it up with the city council?”

Principal Flynn grabbed his files and his briefcase.

Miles continued, “I thought I'd start with the State Supreme Court.”

Principal Flynn stopped and turned around. Miles suppressed a feeling of satisfaction. He had him over a barrel, “You're powerful in _local_ circles, but I believe I can make life very difficult for you, professionally speaking. And Charlie will be allowed back in.”

The little rodent said, “Sorry.  I'm not convinced.”

He turned to leave and Miles grabbed him one-handed by the lapel and shoved him against the filing cabinet. _Sometimes it felt so great to uncork Ripper again._

Voice calm and even, face smiling, Miles said, “Would you like me to convince you?”

Principal Flynn shook his head slightly – quaveringly – success!

Now Charlie could return to life as normal as soon as possible. If only Miles could determine what had happened that night she fled, he could prevent it from happening again.

* * *

Charlie and Aaron sat at the Espresso Pump. They had been there quite some time, catching up, relearning each other.  

Aaron was explaining his summer, “I mean, I'm not a full-fledged warlock. That takes years. I just did a couple blessings and... a teeny glamour to hide a zit.”

It was good to reconnect, Charlie asked, “Does it scare you?”

Aaron nodded, “It has. I tried to communicate with the spirit world, and I **so** wasn't ready for that.  It's like being pulled apart inside.  Plus I blew the power for our whole block.  Big scare.”

Charlie grabbed his hand, “I wish I could've been there with you.”

Aaron smiled, “Me, too. I really freaked out.”

Charlie, earnestly said, “I am sorry.”

“It's okay.  I understand you having to bail.” Aaron smugly added, “I can forgive that. I have to make allowances for what you're going through and be a grownup about it.”

Charlie smiled, “You're really enjoying this whole moral superiority thing, aren't you?”

Aaron cracked a huge grin, “It's like a drug!”

“Fine!  Okay.  I'm the bad. I can take my lumps…” Charlie said, “for a while.”

“All right.  I'll stop giving you a hard time,” and then added, “Runaway.”

Surprised, Charlie exclaimed, “Aar!”

Aaron giggled, “Quitter.”

Charlie got in on the cathartic name-calling, “Whiner.”

“Bailer.”

“Badgerer”

“Delinquent.”

“Hobo”

“Freak.”

“Warlock”

It was good to be besties with Aaron again.


End file.
